............ some places it is macadamized, but some stretches are graded,
Some parts are paved with a nice broad pavement, while some have only stones by the wayside,
Sometimes the traffic and the weather makes potholes and craters in the road. Then it needs the healing touch of something higher and bigger to smooth it out again.
The part that winds through habitations have street lights, but there are long stretches that are dark,
Sometimes the road winds uphill and down, sometimes it goes straight up and comes swooshing down again,
On some stretches there are beautiful trees forming a canopy - a shade from the sun, but there are whole parts where the unrelenting sun beats down,
It goes past rivers, oceans and lakes, and it also winds through deep and silent valleys,
Sometimes there are people on the road, but oftener, there is no one...
That long and winding road....................................................is life
27 August 2010
Randomly rambling...
4 friends...
We were 4 friends in Isabella Thoburn College, Lucknow, back in the 70s. Seems a really, really long time ago. We were close pals, and shared everything - good, bad, happy, sad. We got upset with each other, and frantically made up as well. We were up to all kinds of mischief, of course, within our system.
I must tell you here that when we joined Isabella Thoburn, we were told that we were honour-bound not to break the school rules and do anything wrong. That was something we did take seriously, because, it immediately made us feel very responsible and grown-up. We had all of a sudden become 'Young Ladies'. Woops - but in our dorms and rooms, in our playing fields, and tree groves, we were children - happily playing, frantically grabbing each day, trying to fit in 36 hours into 24...
We depended on each other emotionally, as one is bound to do living in a hostel, far away from home. There was no easy connectivity, either by telephone (remember those trunk call days??), nor postal mail.The most important man in our lives was the postman. Of course, it has always been a source of great astonishment to me how the postman knew each one of us, though he never really saw us. He was a very special man, the postman to Chand Bagh (as our college was also known). Besides our letters, we would wait EAGERLY for our pocket money and tuck - don't know which one we waited for more!! i still remember asking Daddy for 'dough' as we called money then (back in the old days!!) and weeks went by without the Money order coming in. Finally when I was frantic and mailed them a rather weepy letter, I got the brilliant reply that my poor Dad thought 'dough' meant doughnuts (something I'm insane about) and was wondering why Mummy was taking so much time about it!!!!!! They used to send me tuck in these big tins and it would all finish in a day--maximum 2 days!!!
Cannot think of Isabella Thoburn without Miss.Anand, and Miss.Paul very, very, very specially...and of course the others -
for better or for worse. How very understanding Miss.Anand and Miss Paul were...heavens!
Miss.Shipstone, of course was on the unreachable, unattainable pinnacle - tiny as she was, her stature ensured that she towered over us...in my Junior year, I was at the hyper anti-establishment-radical stage of my life (still retain some of those traits), having been heavily influenced by and having fully accepted the hippie philosophy (from having been in Florida Southern). So, when I rebelled against something, Miss Shipstone called me to her office, sat me down, looked at me and, 'Elizabeth', she went, 'you cannot question the status quo. You have to appeal to their better judgment. If you question them, they will close all doors, right or wrong, but if you appeal to them, they might listen to you through a window and then open the door'.
Oooohhhhhhhh there are tons and tons of memories.......
How much, how much fun we had. I wouldn't know where to begin. Even now, as soon as any of calls each other, the only thing we remember is our pranks and the fun we had, and regardless of our 'venerable' ages, we end up hooting and laughing on the phone!!
After all these years, the love is still there, and still intact!!
We were 4 friends in Isabella Thoburn College, Lucknow, back in the 70s. Seems a really, really long time ago. We were close pals, and shared everything - good, bad, happy, sad. We got upset with each other, and frantically made up as well. We were up to all kinds of mischief, of course, within our system.
I must tell you here that when we joined Isabella Thoburn, we were told that we were honour-bound not to break the school rules and do anything wrong. That was something we did take seriously, because, it immediately made us feel very responsible and grown-up. We had all of a sudden become 'Young Ladies'. Woops - but in our dorms and rooms, in our playing fields, and tree groves, we were children - happily playing, frantically grabbing each day, trying to fit in 36 hours into 24...
We depended on each other emotionally, as one is bound to do living in a hostel, far away from home. There was no easy connectivity, either by telephone (remember those trunk call days??), nor postal mail.The most important man in our lives was the postman. Of course, it has always been a source of great astonishment to me how the postman knew each one of us, though he never really saw us. He was a very special man, the postman to Chand Bagh (as our college was also known). Besides our letters, we would wait EAGERLY for our pocket money and tuck - don't know which one we waited for more!! i still remember asking Daddy for 'dough' as we called money then (back in the old days!!) and weeks went by without the Money order coming in. Finally when I was frantic and mailed them a rather weepy letter, I got the brilliant reply that my poor Dad thought 'dough' meant doughnuts (something I'm insane about) and was wondering why Mummy was taking so much time about it!!!!!! They used to send me tuck in these big tins and it would all finish in a day--maximum 2 days!!!
Cannot think of Isabella Thoburn without Miss.Anand, and Miss.Paul very, very, very specially...and of course the others -
for better or for worse. How very understanding Miss.Anand and Miss Paul were...heavens!
Miss.Shipstone, of course was on the unreachable, unattainable pinnacle - tiny as she was, her stature ensured that she towered over us...in my Junior year, I was at the hyper anti-establishment-radical stage of my life (still retain some of those traits), having been heavily influenced by and having fully accepted the hippie philosophy (from having been in Florida Southern). So, when I rebelled against something, Miss Shipstone called me to her office, sat me down, looked at me and, 'Elizabeth', she went, 'you cannot question the status quo. You have to appeal to their better judgment. If you question them, they will close all doors, right or wrong, but if you appeal to them, they might listen to you through a window and then open the door'.
Oooohhhhhhhh there are tons and tons of memories.......
How much, how much fun we had. I wouldn't know where to begin. Even now, as soon as any of calls each other, the only thing we remember is our pranks and the fun we had, and regardless of our 'venerable' ages, we end up hooting and laughing on the phone!!
After all these years, the love is still there, and still intact!!
11 August 2010
Damning...
The most damning indictment but true, nevertheless, was made by Swapan Dasgupta that the Commonwealth Games was never about the games.
There is a suffocating feeling of rage and frustration that the money that is so obviously being over-over-over-over spent is the ordinary tax-payer's hard earned money. I do believe that the people sitting in high places in Delhi think that India is Delhi,and that the citizens of this Delhi-India are made up of only those who live in Lutyens' Delhi. The rest of India lives, and works as-how-and-where, for the advancement and aggrandizement of these people, and to hell with the rest of India and as-how-and-where they live and work...
How else can one account for the total callousness towards the tax-payer? The rest of India gets nothing from Delhi, and if they do want something, they make their own arrangements...they do whatever it takes to create a reasonably good, decent life for themselves and their children.
There is a suffocating feeling of rage and frustration that the money that is so obviously being over-over-over-over spent is the ordinary tax-payer's hard earned money. I do believe that the people sitting in high places in Delhi think that India is Delhi,and that the citizens of this Delhi-India are made up of only those who live in Lutyens' Delhi. The rest of India lives, and works as-how-and-where, for the advancement and aggrandizement of these people, and to hell with the rest of India and as-how-and-where they live and work...
How else can one account for the total callousness towards the tax-payer? The rest of India gets nothing from Delhi, and if they do want something, they make their own arrangements...they do whatever it takes to create a reasonably good, decent life for themselves and their children.
06 August 2010
Randomly thinking...
If we are not in THIS moment, this VERY moment, right NOW, then we are in a different time zone. The time zone, naturally, could be the past, or the future.
One is over; can't do anything about it,
And there is no guarantee of the other; can't do anything about that either...
Keep checking on your time zone!
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